


With Love, The Windows Gleam

by Snowfilly1



Series: Rare Omens Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Background Aziraphale / Crowley, Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Other, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Rare Omens, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Sentient Bookshop (Good Omens), soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: The Bookshop doesn't believe herself capable of love. She learns about the Other in fits and starts. A name first; she is called Bentley.Or, a slow getting to know you between a building and a car.
Relationships: The Bentley/The Bookshop (Good Omens)
Series: Rare Omens Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146065
Comments: 32
Kudos: 54
Collections: Rare Omens





	With Love, The Windows Gleam

**Author's Note:**

> A soft little ficlet for Rare Omens month. No warnings. Title from a poem, 'Home' by Ardelia Cotton Barton

The Bookshop doesn't believe herself capable of love. Even being around an angel for years isn't enough to spark that level of emotional ability, especially when said angel is more concerned that she learns to move books around if people are showing too much interest in them, and showing her where layers of dust would look the most off-putting. 

But she is possessive. 

Angel is hers, of course. He's the one who fixed the woodworm in her beams; the one who carefully makes sure no-one nearby remembers any of the Clean Air Acts so they can have their cosy fire going just the way they like it; the one who brings her trinkets of old ribbons, sketches, keepsakes. 

In return, she keeps the shop at exactly the right temperature. Makes sure the right book happens to find itself near his hand if he's searching for something in particular. 

A few of the humans are almost hers. They come and talk to Angel, and although she doesn't understand all the words, she knows that they come seeking comfort. They're the ones who she lets in through layers of angelic wards and human locked doors, the ones who find a place to sleep in some out of the way corner if they need it, or just the kettle bubbling quietly in the kitchen. She won't let anyone hurt them.

The books are all hers, although sometimes they need to go to new homes. Angel's normally good at sensing which ones those are, but she's not above dropping them on the floor if he's not paying attention. She guards the rest of them carefully; Angel sometimes pats a stretch of wall and calls her a dragon, his voice full of pride and affection. 

Crowley...is not hers, if only because Angel thinks 'Mine' so fiercely every time he appears. So she extends him every courtesy and care she knows how, and never tells Angel that he spends hours reading her books if he's ever in the shop alone. He senses her sometimes; greets her with a smile and a kind word when he comes to visit and she makes sure the wards let him through. He weaves some of his own sometimes, adding his defences to hers. 

And then one day, Crowley doesn't visit any more. 

She looks after what she has, guards them as best as she can. Bricks and mortar aren't much of a substitute for conversation; the silence weighs heavily even to her as the years stretch on. 

It is night-time. It's always night-time now; they don't allow the lights on. She has learnt other things in the past few years; the taste of smoke and fire and fear, the noise of guns and bombs. The casual snap of fingers as a demon walks past, pretending that his heart isn't breaking, drawing another ward across the front of her walls.

The nights are long and the nights are lonely. 

And then there's something else like her, close outside. Something else? She's never known such a thing; Angel has not had time to shape anything else into life like he has for her. And he's told her often enough that other angels couldn't do what he's done. 

Angel is there. Crowley is there, and the...Other?

She feels the Other recognise her as kin; a shiver of awareness, of shock of familiarity. The Other feels like Crowley. 

She learns about the Other in fits and starts. A name first; she is called Bentley. Second, the fact that she is mobile, that she can come and go almost as she pleases. Bookshop is envious of that. Thirdly, that Bentley is as possessive of Crowley as she is of Angel. 

They come to an accord. She holds a parking space free for Bentley whenever they visit. Bentley looks after Angel, despite what Angel complains about later in the evenings when Crowley's gone. They sometimes, at great effort, shuffle themselves a little closer together so Angel and Crowley don't get quite so wet if it's raining heavily. 

And if an exterior window suddenly grows an awning to shelter Bentley from a snowstorm...well, no-one ever thinks to mention it. 

Bookshop thinks she might be getting the hang of this love thing, after all.


End file.
